


New words, Old stars

by rymden



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rymden/pseuds/rymden
Summary: Martin, having had a few glasses of wine, writes some poetry and fantasies about Jon. Then he gets a phone call.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 177





	New words, Old stars

**Author's Note:**

> a few things before you read this!
> 
> martin is also ace here, bc i'm ace haha, but it's mentioned as only a throwaway line in the fic itself.
> 
> secondly, he's trans as well! words used are: cock, dick and entrance to refer to his bottom junk, while chest, breasts and tits are used to refer to his chest area. he has not had top surgery.
> 
> other than that, there is a moment where he's accidentally compelled by jon but it turns out fine! he's more than happy to share his fantasies :)
> 
> enjoy!

He’s just had his third glass of white wine- some cheap brand he haphazardly threw in the shopping cart. It tastes exactly like he thought it would, bland and a little on the dry side, but it does its job. A notebook is perched on his lap, half a page filled with flowery words describing his  _ passion  _ in a lot more detail than he could possibly justify. He writes about his desire, what attracts him about Jon and what he would like to do with him. No names are mentioned, but as anyone who’s ever met Martin would know in an instant who the object of his words is meant to be, as he’s evidently very obvious about his crushes.

The arousal burns hot in his lower stomach, as he writes, pen gliding across the paper, relaying his desires in increasingly graphic ways. There’s comfort in knowing no one else will see these words of his, so he puts them on paper and wistfully wishes the contents to be true. He writes of the intimacy of kissing, of touches; of placing one’s hand tenderly between thighs and of tracing, light as a feather, over heated areas. Imagining himself as the person doing the act, in his mind he is holding Jon and makes him feel as loved as he is.

What sticks to the paper though, is less eloquent than the images in his head, and looking over the words they make his cock throb.

How he wishes to have someone suck him off and then fuck him, to put it bluntly. The thought makes him press his thighs together to seek some relief. It doesn’t do much, but it does cause the notebook to slip off his lap, which he takes as a sign for a well-deserved break. The buzz of alcohol flows through his veins and his thoughts are a little fuzzy, but he takes the image in his mind and runs with it. Sneaking a hand down, he rubs himself through the thin material of his underwear, willing it to be someone else’s hand.

He’s heard the girls talking about how Jon isn’t really into sex, but he remembers vividly talking to the man himself on a work-related party, and at exactly two and a quarter pints in he’d told Martin about a sexual encounter months before. It was brief, but the fact that sex was mentioned makes him believe his asexuality is more complicated than simply “doesn’t” as Martin’s own is.

He thinks about Jon’s face between his thighs, nuzzling between his legs before pulling his boxers down and taking his cock into his mouth. The thought makes a shiver run down his spine. Eyes slipping shut, he imagines Jon touching himself all the while, as if he just couldn’t wait to get his hands on himself with Martin on display like this in front of him. The fabric under his hand grows damper; he’s managed to create a small but  _ definitely there _ spot on them that he can feel with his fingers, all wet fabric. He’s ashamed thinking about his boss in this way, but that only serves to turn him on more. He thinks of Jon telling him how shameful he is to his face, how pathetic he is, and a pleased sigh is drawn from his lips.

“Fuck, Jon,” he murmurs, pressing on his cock with two fingers. It’s a good sensation, but not enough. Hand shooting out in search of a pillow, he manages to grasp it on the other end of the couch. Adjusting himself so that he’s straddling it, he begins grinding down on it, underwear bunching just right at his cock. Hips moving, one hand is holding the pillow in place while the other roams over his stomach, his side, before settling on his chest. He’s not wearing his binder, so he lets his hand slip underneath his shirt to fondle his breast. Tugging on his nipple, and with a perfect angle between his legs, he moans out loud. It makes him feel dirty, shame again burning in the pit of his belly, so he does it again. He imagines Jon again, this time not giving him the time of day as he masturbated within sight. Or rather, him touching himself and Jon occasionally glancing up from his work to shoot him a disgusted look before continuing with his work, all while obviously aroused. What he wouldn’t to be the one to relieve him, even if Jon continues to work while Martin gets him off, hand or mouth, or both, and when he’s finished he simply leaves Martin to get himself to come. It’s a thrilling thought, but despite his sometimes harsh treatment towards Martin, he can’t see Jon as anything other than a considerate lover.

Moaning again as his hips pick up a little more speed, and upon realising just how thin the walls of his flat is, a shameful shiver racks through his body, adding to the warmth between his legs. He thumbs his nipple, pinches it, and rolls it in his hand, it brings another sigh to his lips. It feels so good. To have Jon’s hand playing with his chest, or his mouth, biting and sucking at his breasts- his phone at his coffee table rings out. He almost doesn’t answer it, but when he sees who the caller is, he simply has to pick up. If not because he might get in trouble for ignoring it, it also happens to be the very man he’s fantasising about.

He climbs off the pillow, silently mourning the loss of friction, and picks up the phone. “Hello, this is Martin.” he answers, knowing Jon prefers professionalism.

“Yes, I know.” comes the impatient voice on the other end of the call. The irritated tone sends a flare of heat in his lower stomach. He knows it’s not actually Martin he’s annoyed with right now, but rather the workload, and probably doesn’t notice that he’s coming off as rude. Still, it fuels the humiliation kind he apparently has. “Do you have the information on the latest statement i emailed you about?” he asks, the sound of papers rustling in the background. He must still be at work, Martin concludes with a glance at the clock on his wall. It’s a little past ten.

“Do you mean the one you sent me around three today?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon answers impatiently. It  _ does  _ things to his insides hearing his voice. Pressing his thighs together, he tries to keep his voice level as he speaks.

“Jon,” he starts, a little shaky. “It’s after ten. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Jon breathes, and it’s easy to imagine it in another setting. His hand itches downwards, not touching, but lingering. It would be so easy just to- “I apologise. I must’ve lost track of time.”

“It’s alright, I wasn’t doing anything, ah, important,” he swallows, his dick aching with the lack of attention.

“I see,” Jon says, the line picking up static. “What are you doing?” he questions, not as an accusation, but rather an awkward attempt at small talk. It’s endearing, Martin thinks. The static is loud in his ear and before he has time to reach properly the words are pulled from his lips.

“I was touching myself. Humping my pillow actually, thinking of you.” he answers, a little monotonous. As soon as the words are out he starts to sputter, embarrassed and ashamed at his words. It only really served to rile him up further. The other end of the line goes silent before a shaky breath is picked up. Martin waits in silence for Jon to say something, his dick positively throbbing. His hand is so close, resting on his thigh.

“Oh. I, ah, s-sorry, didn’t mean to-” he breaks off, voice unsteady and flustered. A flick of hope is ignited in Martin. “I didn’t mean to compel you.” he finishes lamely, swallowing loudly. There’s some more rustling on the other side, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“No, I’m sorry for fantasising about you in the first place,” Martin says, not sorry at all. Then, he lowers his voice slightly, testing the waters, “I was actually in the middle of it when you called.”

Jon gulps again, but says nothing.

“... I’d like to get back to it, actually.”

“O-oh. Of course.” Jon eventually says. Martin imagines him to be blushing from head to toe. His skin is dark enough that his blushing is not immediately obvious, but if you’ve observed Jon as much Martin has, you learn to tell the signs of a flustered archivist.

“You haven’t hung up yet,” he states, with a teasing edge to it. Internally, he can’t believe this is happening.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. I can-”

“Do you  _ want  _ to hang up?”

Jon is quiet for a second, considering, before exhaling. It sounds lighter, somehow. “... No.” he finally says. “If you want, you can tell me what you were imagining.”

Martin is a little taken aback by how forward he is, but he supposes that’s just Jon at work, always curious and not one for beating around the bush when it comes to answers. He doesn’t quite moan out loud, but there is definitely something like it slipping out from him as he presses three fingers on his cock. “I was imagining you as I was touching myself. You were between my legs, sucking me off, and while you did that your hands were on yourself.” he starts. There’s more fabric rustling in his ear.

“What else?” Jon asks, breathing heavy. Static crackles again and Martin finds it easy to recount his fantasies.

“You had my dick on your tongue and just couldn’t wait to touch yourself, that eager to get some relief. You’d just settle on grinding your hand on though, so you didn’t come too soon, while pleasing me. It was beautiful, you on your knees in front of me, mouth too busy to tell me off for whatever I’d done wrong.” Martin’s hips rock into his fingers, but the friction isn’t enough through his boxers, so he quickly sheds them, sitting now fully nude from the waist down.

A shaky moan can be heard, along with something sliding against fabric repeatedly. “Jon, are you touching yourself now?” he asks, humming as his hand is back on himself. He trails his finger down from his dick to his entrance, the wet sound no doubt audible through the phone. It earns another moan. 

“Yes.” Jon replies honestly. “The image, is quite striking, I’ll-  _ ah-  _ admit.”

Martin makes an acknowledging sound, breaching himself with one finger, thrusting at a steady rhythm. “I also like to imagine you, working away as I fingered myself in the same room as you. You would barely look at me, but I know you’d be affected. Maybe you’d let me touch you, get my hands on you or I’d use my mouth to get you off. You could use me any way you wanted and I’d be happy to give you it. God, it would be cruel to leave me as soon as you’d cum. You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Martin pants into the air, throwing his head back. He adds another finger, spreading his legs a little more as he does.

“I-I wouldn’t,” Jon breathes. There’s a sound of a belt being unbuckled. A shudder runs through Martin at it. “Being so good, I’d let you rub off on me.”

Martin groans at that, picking up speed. He squishes his phone into his cheek with his shoulder to get his other hand free. It sneaks down to press the heel into his dick, rubbing it in time with his fingers. The motions create sloppy noises he hopes Jon picks up. “Fuck,” he half-sobs. He had no idea being praised would have this effect on him, but it’s definitely not unwelcome.

“You could grind on my leg, underneath my desk, or if you’d been really good, I’d let you sit on my thigh and rub on me.” Jon continues. “If you wanted, I could touch your chest.” he adds, a little modestly.

At that, Martin dearly wishes they were at the same place. His hands are busy getting him off, unfortunately, but some more attention on his breasts would be amazing. “God, yes,” he breathes. “I’d love you to touch my tits. Play with my nipples, suck on them. It would feel so good, Jon.”

“Shit,” Jon curses. The old chair in his office creaks under his weight, loud and clear through the phone. Martin takes that moment to let his thoughts wander, picturing the scene Jon had described. A warm thigh against his cock, grinding down until the friction became too much. The spot he’d leave on his boss’ slacks. One would be able to smell Martin on him all day, and the thought pulls another sound from him. Jon mirrors him with a groan of his own.

Picking up speed, he feels his orgasm building, steadily getting there. “I’m close,”

“Me too,” Jon replies, and true to his word, the rustling is faster as well, along with his breathing.

“What a sigh that must be,” Martin sighs wistfully. Jon makes a choking sound. “I’d love to sit on that face sometime. Claim that sight for a few minutes.”

A drawn-out moan is heard on Jon’s end, and that’s all Martin himself needed to come. He shudders through it, hands still moving until he gets oversensitive. It buzzes pleasantly though his body. “That was nice,” he says, breathless. Jon doesn’t sound to be faring of much better, panting into the phone.

“Yeah. Needed that, actually, so- er, thanks.” he proclaims, a little awkwardly, but Martin appreciated the sentiment. “... Be sure to have that research ready by noon.”

Martin bites back a groan. “Of course, Jon.”

“Good… I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Martin. Sleep well.” he says, sounding sincere. For the first time that night, Martin finds himself blushing.

“Yeah. You too, Jon. Don’t stay too late.”

“I won’t,” he lies, and they hang up.

As he comes down from the high, he pours himself another glass of wine before thinking,  _ screw it,  _ and fetches his pillow from the floor. He’s not too hopeful, having learned that the hard way, but he hopes that tomorrow will bring a new nuance to his and Jon’s relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> i do have a nsfw twitter! i have no idea how to link things on here but you can find me at @rymdens on there :)


End file.
